


Something Something, Fuck, I'm No Poet.

by CescaLR



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: (nevermind), (oh no I got AC tags about CK, ? - Freeform, ??? - Freeform, ?????, Angst, CAN I JUST SAY, Character Study, Cheating, Clay Hallucinates, Drugs, F/M, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hallucinations, I mean, I mean our pov character /is/ an addict, I use lyrics in the most recent chapter as a motif throughout linking all the scenes togther, I was watching it because someone else was, I watched the last three episodes of season two prior to this, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Infidelity, It Makes Sense in Context, Maybe - Freeform, NOW i'm done, Not Canon Compliant, POV Justin Foley, POV Third Person Limited, Possibly Pre-Slash, Possibly Unrequited Love, Pre-Slash, References to Drugs, Songfic, Suicide Attempt, Swearing, Tags Are Hard, Tags Contain Spoilers, Tags May Change, Thanks, alright this could be read as, and, and I don't really watch the show, anyway, anyway im done, anyway ok, anyway on the safe side, attempted drug use, bit of both really, but maybe not we'll see - Freeform, but very blatant for both let's be honest, cries), explained, hmm, i think, i.e. Hannah/Clay, idk - Freeform, it does not make me happy but plot decrees as does canon actions, it's late I'm sorry, kind of, kind of a, kinda canon-compliant, nope I'm not, not implied very stated, not much?, not the time but whatever, now i think about it, ok, randomly in the middle for no reason, really - Freeform, referenced past relationship(s), regarding orientation???, so I only know what I've heard aside from the three episodes I've seen and what they've, sorry peeps, that's not a tag but whatever, that's unavoidable, there is cheating, these are fucked up kids in a fucked up world so I used fuck a lot in this okay cool, this is def more, this is pretty dark I guess, this is weird btw, to cover my bases, wait no, why
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-05-09 23:07:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14725367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CescaLR/pseuds/CescaLR
Summary: So. Well.Clay's fucking crazy.Great.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Justin's not the best about Clay's mental health in how he refers to it maybe idk? I'm sorry anyway. 
> 
> I don't plan on watching season one btw, ask me why if you wanna, I won't tell u thanx
> 
> (maybe I will, who knows, who cares, It's late, I've had very little sleep in the last three days, I hate my next-door-neighbour's dogs)
> 
> this isn't really the sort of fic you 'enjoy'... but don't hate it, please? Feel some emotion when reading! mostly because I can't say 'I hope you're happy with this' either because... this is 13 reasons why we're talking about here.

So… Clay was _crazy._ Like, actually crazy. _Genuinely_ fucked up, and it was almost worse than _him,_ and that was saying something, since, you know, Justin’s high on heroine half the time. Or, was. He’s better now. Sort of. Getting better.

But yeah. Clay was _fucking crazy._

It went like this:

Clay was striding up to Bryce’s house. Stupid idea on any day, really, Justin’s aware. But Clay’s got a _fucking gun,_ and he’s about ready to _kill_ that son of a bitch, and honestly, that’s such a bad idea.

_Such_ a _bad_ idea.

Justin talks him down from it. But he’s talking to someone, looking at nothing, talking about a ‘she’ and god, _god,_ he’s fucked. They’re all fucked, but he’s – he’s about ready to actually _kill_ someone, and he’s about ready to kill _himself,_ and fuck, that’s a _fucking epidemic_ right now, Justin isn’t a fan of letting Clay be part of that any more than he already is by being a part of the Tapes.

_Fuck._

But Justin talked him down. And he threatens Bryce, the fucking rapist asshole that he is, and he gets into the car and drives and he’s opening his mouth to ask _what the fuck was Clay on…_ ignoring the poor choice of words and Clay’s probably inevitable comeback, and he doesn’t, because instead there’s a car following them, and now’s not the time.

And when they get back to the house, well, Clay disappears off inside and that’s a great strategy, really, because Justin’s not about to bring this up in front of the Jensens, why would he do that, that’s a terrible idea, but really, all he’s doing is postponing the inevitable.

* * *

 

Justin waits until they’re upstairs, because they share a room, yeah, okay. It’s not really that awkward.

Funnily enough. Justin kind of likes not being alone, not having to sit in his room and listen to his mom argue with her boyfriend and start a fight and then he’d start throwing shit and Justin would go and get himself involved as he always does, did, since he doesn’t have to back there (hopefully never, hopefully this can last until next year, then he’s eighteen, then he’s set, maybe even longer, maybe he can get to rely on someone, these three people, this family, but that feels like a lot of maybes) but that’s not here and that’s not now and right now, _Clay’s fucking crazy._

“So what was _that_ about?” Justin asks, demands really, locks the door behind himself with a soft _click._

“What?” Clay demands right back, a little sullen, mostly defensive. He’s calmed mostly, but he’s still jittery, not in the way Justin gets after too long – _got_ after too long without a hit, but in the way people get after doing stupid fucking shit, pulling stunts like trying to jump ramps in cars and skydiving and not having a working parachute so someone else has to catch you and get you to the ground, like they do in the movies.

Adrenaline. That’s what it’s called.

“You went to go kill him, Clay,” Justin says, “You were gonna go _murder_ someone, and you were yelling about a ‘she’, and then you put a _fucking gun to the side of your own damn head,_ Christ!” Justin whisper-shouts, because these walls aren’t as thin as the ones in his mom’s house but they’re not fucking soundproof, either, so they can’t let this get too loud, let it get out of hand like Clay does, sometimes, like when he was shouting, screaming at something to leave him alone with his hands over his ears but no-one was there, fuck, _Clay’s goddamn crazy_ and Justin had barely noticed and he was _living here._

Justin was apparently fucking useless, but that wasn’t new, it wasn’t news, that was plain and obvious and _no shit, Sherlock._

“Alright, yeah, I was,” Clay said, and now wasn’t the time for the guy’s intermittent backbone to show it’s face again, or maybe it wasn’t that weird sort of courage, maybe it was whatever made him taunt Bryce until he beat him up, made him do some of the crazy shit he’s done since Hannah died. “I was gonna kill him.”

“Why?” Justin asked, and then added, at Clay’s expression, “I know he fucking deserves it, shit, but _why?_ We’re making a case against him, we’re doing this the way it should be done, Clay, _if you killed him, you’d be ruined for life,_ you get that? Forever.”

Justin’s a bit of a fuck up – well, a bit more than a bit, actually quite a lot, he’s _severely_ fucked, and it looks like Clay might actually be, as he’s stated, _fucking crazy,_ but that doesn’t mean he’s gotta go throw his life away. Justin’s already done that, he’s fucked up big time, and he really doesn’t recommend it.

“I get it!” Clay explodes, then glances at the door, furtive, and his next words are a similar level of whisper-shout to the one that Justin’s been using, but he’s better at it, probably from working at a Cinema, maybe, whispering away with his old – and one, now dead – co-workers when the place was deserted and the best movies they played were on the z-list. Shouting quietly at too-rowdy moviegoers. Fuck, Justin doesn’t know, he’s never worked at a place like that.

“Of _course_ I get it,” He continued, “But-“ He looked frustrated. Justin figured he didn’t want to mention the ‘she’, and Justin had the worst sinking feeling in his gut about who said ‘she’ might be, because really, when it came down to it, with Clay, most of his crazy came from one girl and her tapes and her suicide.

Most. Since, well, the rest of them were involved in all this shit, and Justin was an addict, for Christs’ sake, and only this guy was talking to the voices in his fucking head.

And borrowing guns from someone to go murder people with. No matter who the person was, god, that was just not a good sign.

“You mentioned a ‘she’,” Justin said.

“No I didn’t,” Clay protested, “Yeah, yeah you did,” Justin said, “Fuck, Clay, you nearly _shot yourself,_ god, look, just tell me, _tell me what’s going on in your head,_ come on,” Justin asked, maybe he pleaded, a little, because, _god, **god** , _they didn’t need any more death.

 “… Hannah.” Clay said, after a long pause.

Well, no shit. Justin didn’t say that out loud, but maybe it showed in his expression. Clay looked away. Justin couldn’t quite read his before he did that, didn’t get the chance to. “Would it be weird to say _I see dead people?”_ Clay said, and fuck, now was not the time for that shit, but maybe that was why he said it. Justin let out a breath. “Yeah.” He said, flatly.

Clay’s lips twisted and he shrugged, his expression fell flat. God, they were fucked.

“I see Hannah.” Clay said. “And – and it’s not so bad, really. We just talk, sometimes. But-“

But. There was always a but. Really, _it wasn’t so bad,_ what the _fuck-_

“Sometimes,” Clay started up again, haltingly, “It’s like the tapes. Lately – lately –“ Clay paused. “She was – the whole time, just – saying it, word for word, repeating it, what he _did,_ how he _did it,_ how she felt, everything, the details and – and she wouldn’t _stop,_ and she’s done things like that but sometimes we just talk and – and it’s like she never – and it’s not so bad, _really,_ but it is, because she’s _dead,_ not _here,_ and…” Clay shrugged, helplessly.

“So you’re hallucinating Hannah Baker,” Justin said.

“… Yeah.” Clay said. “That… is the case.”

* * *

 

Justin sees it now when he didn’t before. Notices better, maybe because he knows what to look for.

Clay fucking walks around the streets talking to _thin fucking air,_ what the shit, how is _Justin_ the addict, here?

Was Justin the addict. Was. He’s clean. Mostly. Sort of. He’s not really working on it, but he is, but it’s slow, and it’s kind of working, but it’s not, really, and Justin thinks these cravings, they’re never going anywhere, but he’s got other things to think about, to distract himself with, like the boy walking down the street and, y’know, talking to thin air like he’s having some random pleasant chat with an old friend not, y’know, _thin fucking air._

He doesn’t do it all the time. But this is so fucking blatant, at least stick a phone to your ear or shove in some headphones, _god fucking damnit,_ how bad of an actor is this guy?

_Justin_ was better when _high off his fucking marbles,_ Christ on a –

“Clay,” Justin called out, and Clay’s head snapped to him, glanced back to not-Hannah-but-fuck-if-Clay-can-probably-tell-the-difference-we-all-know-he-can’t (but there’s no we to know he can’t, only Justin knows, maybe Clay knows too, maybe the ‘we’ here is him and Clay, but maybe Clay can tell the difference, can tell it’s his subconsciousness or whatever the fuck that making her walk and talk and do this shit, not some, fuck, afterimage, imprint, ghostly shit, she’s not fucking real, because there’s no magic here, just a bunch of fucked up kids with the same ghosts except, well, not as literally as Clay’s got it) then back to Justin, likely having seen that she’s not actually there, but he doesn’t act surprised, and Justin knows Clay knows that she isn’t real, which is probably a good sign, but Justin has no fucking clue about any of this shit, come on, why would you expect any of them to, let alone him?

Justin has no fucking idea. Really, enlighten him.

“Justin,” Clay says, and they walk next to each other on the sidewalk, a random direction. He figures Clay had just been out for a walk, or whatever.

“So,” Justin says. “That was way too obvious.”

“I didn’t use to,” Clay said, “When she first showed up, it was easier to talk to her without actually talking to her, you know, but lately –”

“Right,” Justin sighed at Clay’s shrug when he cut himself off. He’s not going to say _you should get help_ because where would he go, exactly, that wouldn’t immediately throw him into a mental institution, or get him twenty million different kinds of drugs that don’t help or do help but also don’t because they do other stuff that doesn’t help at all, or maybe they find that special one in a kind thing that helps and doesn’t hurt but that’s just if he’s lucky, and really, for another reason, it’d just be hypocritical.

Justin knows he’s going to get arrested for testifying. The police thing. Going to them. Since he let it happen, he’s – in a way, he helped. Didn’t do anything to stop it.

He’s not told anyone. He’s not about to.

* * *

 

It’s the wake. Justin’s just had the bomb drop of Clay’s parents offering to adopt him… through Clay, who had just agreed that Justin was fucked up but that, well, Clay was fucked up too, and really, what other choice did Justin have?

And, really… he liked the idea. A more permanent home. He doubts he could ever really consider Clay a brother, or whatever, or consider Lainie his mom, because he already has one even if she’s not that great and he does love her, really, even if that’s stupid, but (maybe) Matt could be better than his own dad was, he wouldn’t know, and he’ll (maybe) definitely be better than his mom’s boyfriends had been.

Especially the most recent one. Seth. The one that’s lasted longest.

He’d gotten used to Clay, anyway. His amount of crazy wasn’t really _that_ much more than Justin’s, arguably less since Justin was… well, let’s just say that Juvy wasn’t a good idea if he wanted to stay on the straight and narrow, but Justin had known what he was getting into.

Justin kind of wants to go the fling. The Spring Fling. A dance. To show that he’s not – to show his face. To be a bit more of a normal teenager, for a little time. A few hours.

Clay’s reluctant. But Justin says what’s on his mind, a bit, and he relents. Says “We’ll go”, and Justin laughs, a bit, because the phrasing is a bit like they’re going together but that would be very, very weird, given the whole… soon to be adoptive-brothers thing, and all, and so Justin doesn’t comment on it.

Also, you know, Justin’s straight (as a screw. Wait. Well. They’re not straight, really, so it’s a bad comparison, yep.). That’s a factor. A thing. Yep. He likes girls. Which is true. _Very_ true.

Unfortunately so, really. If he didn’t, if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have been dating – and maybe what happened wouldn’t have – because maybe – but, in the end, probably not. Since, well, Bryce was who he was. A rapist. He didn’t have to have a reason. He was just – awful, severely so. 

But he was straight. And, well, Justin knows things would have been much worse if he was gay, or something. With the people that he’s had around him. So.

Straight as a screw. Cardboard. Neither of those is actually all that straight when he thinks about it, but – whatever. He’s just bad at comparisons.

* * *

 

Justin can’t tie a fucking tie. _Still._ And Clay had helped previously, shown him exactly how previously, but here he is, still unable. He blames not needing to tie any ties in Juvy for his forgetfulness.

Great. Clay’s incredulous, and whatever, that’s a warranted reaction.

“Um.” Justin starts, after Clay gets all anal about how he does the tying again and gets a little too close for comfort, ties his tie, properly, quickly, efficiently, and then steps back again, out of Justin’s personal space.

The tie’s a little crooked, and Clay’s glaring at it. Whatever. Justin’s already said his part about Clay needing to get laid, or whatever, now there’s some more serious stuff. Kind of a weird ice-breaker, sure, but Justin’s not exactly. Well. His practice with conversation, the person he used to talk to most – not exactly the best example. He’s playing it all by ear.

“Um,” Justin repeats. He’s not sure why he’s all weird of a sudden. Probably because he’s hidden heroin in his bag, still, he still on that shit because of fucking Juvy, and now he’s about to butt in on Clay’s weirdness again, and he’s not even going to give the guy the courtesy of telling him.

“I guess…” Justin sighed. “Do you still see hallucinations of Hannah?”

“Blunt,” Clay said, lightly, and Justin’s tie seemed to bother him enough that after eying it some more he made a frustrated noise and moved over to fix it.

Clay undid his tie, quick. “Take a hold of the two ends,” Clay said, gesturing, tapping them. “What?” Justin said. That – was he just –

Clay undid his own tie. “This side,” He gestured, holding onto it; the bigger one – “Over this side,” He continued, patient, slow, and Justin blinked at him.

Clay made another frustrated noise.

“Uh,” Justin said. Well. Is ‘uh’ a word?

“Fine.” Clay let out, sighing, stepped back, and Justin hadn’t quite realized he hadn’t done that already. “No.” He said. “I haven’t seen her since the funeral.”

“That’s good,” Justin said.

“Yeah.” Clay said. “I – I let her go. Forgave her, kind of.”

“Pretty sure hallucinations don’t work like that,” Justin said. “But, uh. Okay. If it worked for you, it worked.”

Clay smiled slightly. Um.

“How do you do this, again?” Justin said, turning to the mirror. He did what Clay had just done, and Clay sighed, long-suffering.

Hey now.

“The bigger side over the smaller side,” Clay said, and started doing up his own tie again, slowly. “Wrap it around.” Justin did so, and Clay made an annoyed sound. “Not like _that.”_

“What’d I do wrong?” Justin asked, bewildered. “That’s too many times,” Clay said, exasperated. “It’s going to be short and awkward and bulky. The thin side’s going to be way longer than the wider one.”

Justin made his own frustrated sound at that. “Why does this have to be _that_ complicated? It’s just a tie.”

Clay’s expression was one of ‘ _It’s not that complicated, Christ, Justin, fucking really?’_ but that was more Justin’s own interpretation.

“Turn around,” Clay sighed, got up, and Justin sighed similarly, turned around. “I’m probably never going to learn how to do this.”

“Yeah, you are.” Clay said. “I’m not doing this for the rest of our lives, man.”

Justin laughed a little. There’s the phrasing, again.

“What?” Clay asked. Justin shrugged, and Clay finished his tie. “There,” Clay said, satisfied, and checked his own in the mirror behind Justin, quick-like, before stepping back.

Well. Justin was going to try and help him get laid, maybe. Be his wingman, or whatever, and to do that, he’d need to check, a bit, if anyone would want to.

Yeah, probably.

Whatever.

“Alright,” Justin said. “So I guess we just get going then?”

Clay agreed. They left.

Then the dance and Bryce showed his unwanted face and called him ‘brother’ and said shit that made his skin crawl and Justin takes it back, Clay doesn’t need to get laid, not if that’s thinking along the same lines as _Bryce –_ but Justin made his general shitty life decision of the week because he got a little jealous and Jess – well, Justin doesn’t know what’s going on in her head and he’s not sure it had been a good idea but they did it and a huge fucking mistake, it really was that Justin knows it was, and there’s Alex and he feels awful but _Jess,_ and there’s no time for that, because Tyler’s here with a rifle and oh look, Clay’s at his crazy again.

Justin doesn’t call the police. Jess does. He’s glad, in a way, because this whole thing is very, very dangerous, but also – well, Justin didn’t do it. Jess did. She doesn’t live with Clay, and Justin doesn’t want to have to deal with Clay annoyed at him any more than he is generally speaking.

Clay, after a beat of looking at the gun, makes a break for it.

Jess stands there. Justin practically begs her to go back inside and find the others and not say a damn word, and she looks at him, at his face, and nods, and leaves, and whatever, Justin just – he just follows Clay.

“What are you doing?” Justin demands, trying to keep up. Clay’s half-running half checking over the gun, and he kind of looks like he knows what he’s doing like he’s seen this very specific gun before, and Justin knows where he got the gun he’d tried to kill Bryce and himself with, fuck, goddamn it, Justin should have known.

How would he have known, exactly? Well. He just. He should have.

“Tony’s with Tyler,” Clay said. “I’m going after them, in case Tyler’s got other weaponry, in case Tyler gets Tony to go to someone’s house, Tony’s car is recognizable, it’s – it’s why I asked him –”

“What are you _saying,_ that you _planned_ this?” Justin demands, as Clay puts the gun’s safety on and slings it over his back so he can run faster, better, move easier, and Justin hates his time in Juvy, it made him weaker, physically, he’s having more trouble than he should keeping up with Clay. _Clay._ Fuck, Justin needs to start working out again.

It’s also probably the heroine. That’s a factor.

Clay doesn’t answer. Honestly – how he was talking earlier, how he’d looked at the gun, how he’d handled things, Justin knows he hadn’t. Clay had had no idea if Tyler would end up shooting him, knocking him out, pushing him aside, or letting him take the gun, he’d had no clue.

They’re talking about that later. Justin’s throwing his own shreds of life away, but Clay’s got more of his left. He doesn’t need to do the same.

Justin kind of thinks he’s throwing his shreds at different people. He’d thrown a lot of them at Bryce, over the years. The most that night, when he _raped_ Jess. He’s thrown them at himself, cut himself on the edges, when he got addicted, like his mom, who got her fair share of his life shreds.

And then there was Seth.

He’s thrown them at Jess, too. Now, he’s throwing some at Clay, and he really hopes – beyond all hope – he’ll have some left, for later, maybe, hopes he’ll have some _left at all._

They find the two in the car, soon enough. Tyler’s unconscious.

Okay. Justin’s fine with that. Clay’s not happy, exactly, but he can tell just how volatile Tyler was, really. After what he did tonight, nobody’s doubting that.

“I don’t know how you did it,” Tony said. Justin’s of the same mind, in that regard. How the fuck Clay managed to talk him down is mind-boggling because really, he’d seemed pretty fucking set, what with the vest and automatic rifle and fucking _bombs_ and shit.

“I knocked him out when I saw the explosives,” Tony said. Which is how Justin knew he had bombs. “In case he got the idea to use them.”

“Right,” Clay said. A little fainter. Justin guessed he hadn’t realized. Neither had Justin, to be fair.

“No other guns?” Justin asked.

“He had other guns,” Tony said. “I didn’t give him the chance to pull one on me.”

Clay nodded. Okay. Justin nodded, as well. Gave his input. He could do that, now, with these people, and it’d be taken into account. He wouldn’t be mocked, or patronized, or what have you. They’d listen.

It was odd, decidedly. But it worked. He liked it a lot better, anyway.

“We can’t take him straight to his home,” Clay said.

“We should,” Justin said. “We have the proof right here he was going to do something he’d regret, right?”

“There’s not much else we can do with him,” Tony agreed. “Unless you want to hand him into the police?”

Clay – well, Justin knew Clay didn’t want Tyler getting into any real trouble, for whatever reason, even though he’d just tried to fucking shoot up the goddamn school.

Clay got into the car, into the backseat. Justin followed suit. “Alright,” Clay said. “Onwards,” He gestured, and Tony stepped on the gas.

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course, Justin should have known it wouldn't last.
> 
> After all - Clay was fucking crazy, and Justin's been attempting to hide heroin under the guy's goddamn /bed/.

They got Tyler back to his house. His mom was a mixture of horrified and hurt and concerned and worried as all hell, and she took the weaponry, and Justin didn't mention it to Tony when they got back in the car that, given what her son had done, she hadn't really been able to say anything about Clay keeping one of the guy's pistols.

Why the fuck, what the fuck, Justin is  _definitely_ getting rid of the ammo later -

Anyway, they did all that shit. Now they're back home, at Clay's home, at Justin's new one, that's a weird thought still; Clay's home being his home because they're sort-of-brothers now, and that's an even weirder thought that makes him feel weird but not in a good way, like when they eat at the table - a rare enough occurrence before Lainie quit her firm, but something a little more often now - and they're all talking and no-one's arguing and it's actually kind of nice, or whatever. It's more like when he thinks about what he did at the dance with Jess and how that's gonna affect her relationship with Alex and how fucking stupid it was, how fucking awful it had been of him, and yeah, it's a very different situation and neither of them makes him feel  _guilty,_ exactly, but they make him feel  _weird._

So they're back at the Jensen's house, his house now too, and they're in Clay's room, and it's late, and well, Clay's staring up at the ceiling above his bed, and Justin, in the safety of the dark, is eying the bag under the guy's bed.

He really, really needs to find a better hiding place. Stat. 

"She's not gone," Clay said, sudden. "I mean, I thought she was. But she's. Here."

"Now?" Justin asked, but he knew that's what Clay meant. 

"No shit," Clay said. "Yeah. Now."

"You're not talking to her," Justin noted. 

"I'm asking if you'd - if you wouldn't mind if I did." Clay said. Without really asking. "Just to know why she's still  _here."_

Not really. But, well, Justin's doing stupid shit - as in, heroin in his toe - so he can't really. Without being a hypocrite. He can't. Y'know. He can't say stuff about it. Really. 

"Fine," Justin said. 

Clay started talking to thin air - a heated debate, argument, whatever, that sounded pretty one-sided even if Justin had no idea what his hallucination was saying to him to know for sure. It's one-sided regardless since Clay's only talking to himself, but whatever. This is probably really stupid.

Justin eyed the wardrobe, where Clay had hidden the gun, balled up at the bottom in three of his tops.

* * *

Justin hadn't hidden the heroin well enough. But he couldn't very well hide it anywhere else, so what was he supposed to do? And - well. He hated to use it, but he had the leverage of the gun Clay took for whatever fucking reason, the leverage of what Tyler did. 

He just - it took a goddamn  _week_ for Clay to find it. A week. Justin had hoped for longer, is all. A month. Maybe.

Maybe he hadn't. Maybe he had. What-the-fuck-ever.

"Are you fucking serious?" Clay said, as he dropped the bag onto Justin's bed, held up one of the filled syringes. So. He was angry. Justin got why, sure, this was fucking stupid of him, but it was his life to ruin and besides, he'd known what he was getting into when in Juvy, known going there was only a one-way ticket back to being off the wagon. 

Justin hadn't been careful enough. When he'd put the bag back, last.

"Clay-" Justin started.

"Fuck off," Clay snapped, and, well, shit. Okay. Clay stared at him, for a moment, calculating, and well. That was never good.

Case in point: he placed the needle on his skin.

"Fuck-" Justin stepped forward, but Clay threatened to press in the point, and Justin held up his hands, reflexively, "Fuck, Clay,  _no,_ what - that's  _fucking stupid,_ why would you -"

"Why would  _you?"_ Clay demanded. "If it's 'fucking stupid', if you can, why can't anyone else?"

"Because it ruins your life!" Justin nearly shouted. Luckily, Clay's parents weren't home.

Maybe. Maybe Clay had  _planned_ that. 

"Yeah!" Clay agreed, "Yeah it fucking does!" He stared at Justin, imploringly, and Justin looked away for a split second, down to the needle, then back up again. Don't be a fucking coward, Foley. 

"Put it back," Justin said. "No." Clay said. 

Justin was also probably crazy. Case in point: he tackled Clay. Clay, who wasn't a not-recoving addict but rather a guy with hallucinations and hopefully no murderous tendancies because of it, hopefully Justin had talked him down from that forever, but then, why the fuck would he have taken a gun, then, why the fuck -

Justin grabbed the heroin during their combined fall to the ground, grabbed it, but Clay grabbed onto it too, and Justin can't really tell what happened, but it smashed open on the ground at some point, and Justin was holding Clay's shoulders and kind of - well -

Clay's either a lot stronger than he looks, heroin is really fucking messing with Justin's system, or Justin really needs to start exercising again, or really a combination of all three, because he manages to shove Justin over, onto the ground, and before Justin can do anything about it, their positions are kind of reversed, except Clay's not actually on top of him. Kind of off to the side. And he's holding Justin down by bracing an arm against his chest and holding onto one of Justin's with the free one, too, which is different as well.

Right. Okay.

They take a minute to calm down, or Clay does, Justin - well - maybe not, whatever, and Clay stands, offers his hand.

Justin's kind of. Well. he sits up, takes the hand, stands, and moves over to the window, looks out onto the street, so he doesn't have to look at Clay or the heroin on the bed or the floor. 

"We should clean that up," Clay said. "Throw the rest out."

"Throw it out?" Justin said. " _Throw it -_ Clay, Christ, it's  _heroin,_ how the hell do you throw that away?"

"Because we need to get rid of it," Clay said, slowly. 

"Like we need to get rid of the gun?" Justin asked. 

"That's different," Clay said. "Self-defense is different from sticking a needle into your toe, god."

Right, okay. So Clay  _must_ have seen him do it, then, he must have. When, though?

"Neither of us even have a licence!" Justin said, exasperated, kind of worried. If they're caught with either of these things they're done for, sure, but a gun without a licence...

"I'm throwing it away," Clay said. "The heroin. Come on, Justin, you _got off_ this shit." 

"Juvy wasn't exactly the best place to stay off it," Justin said. Probably shouldn't have, judging by Clay's expression. "Should have visited." Clay said. "Could you have-?"

"Yeah," Justin said. "But there was a lot going on. A  _lot._ I get - it makes sense."

"Still should have," Clay said. Final. Justin's kind of touched, weirdly. That someone would have wanted to visit him in fucking  _juvy._

"I'm sorry I - I'm sorry _we_ didn't." Clay said. 

"Yeah, well, it's done with, now," Justin said. A little uncomfortable. Whatever. 

Clay grabs the bag with the heroin and leaves with it. Justin looks at the wardrobe, pauses, doesn't take out the gun to go bury it somewhere.

He leaves it be and hopes that's not another fucking shitty life choice. 

* * *

"Fuck." Justin breathed. They really shouldn't be doing this. 

"Fuck," Jess repeated. Yeah, they  _really_ shouldn't. 

She's still dating Alex. She's  _cheating_ on Alex, and it's not a good, not a good thing  _at all_ and god, Justin feels guilty now, not weird, like he had at the dance, 'weird' is an emotion now fully reserved for Clay, whatever, don't think about that, not when Jess is doing  _that -_

Okay. 

They - well. Justin really wants to have second thoughts about this shitty life choice of the month, but he's not having them. And he can't tell anyone because everyone likes Alex, he's a good guy, and it's such a supremely bad idea for  _him_ to be doing  _this_ with  _Jess,_ given everything that's happened, given all of this shit, given how they don't talk about it unless it's happening at that moment, and really all they do at that point is swear at nothing. 

This needs to stop. But Justin's never been good with self-control, fuck no, he's a goddamn addict, why would you think he was. 

They don't stop. At least, until Jess gets a call because she's not home and Justin finally notices all the missed texts he's gotten from Clay and the one worried text from both Lainie and Matt under Matt's contact, and  _Christ,_ Jess' only got one missed call but Justin's got five from the same goddamn number and two more, one from each Lainie and Matt, and okay, yeah, he can get why they'd get so worried.

"They care a lot, don't they?" Jess said, reading over his shoulder. She was zipping up her jeans, pulling on her jacket. She never got more than half undressed, and she never let him take off a single layer. 

"Yeah," Justin said, thickly, for whatever reason, as he stared down at the five missed calls from one Clay Jensen and two from the guy's parents who were now technically Justin's parents too, but he's not gonna think about that all that much.

He thinks about it a lot more than he should already. It's strange, decidedly. But not as weird as the idea that  _Clay_ is technically his brother now. 

That's just. It's weird. He likes Clay well enough. That's not the problem. 

(Or - well. Fuck, maybe it is. Justin's not thinking about that, though. He'd rather be high on  _cocaine_ than think about that. Or help Jess cheat on Alex two thousand more fucking times.)

"You should call him back," she said. "Jensen worries too much."

She's right there. Nobody seems to worry about him enough, though. Given the whole, you know, 'hallucinations only Justin knows about' thing, he kind of gets why; the fact is, though he's not all that great of an actor about it, he's good enough to fool the rest of them.

They just. They didn't have the advantage of living with the guy. That helps in figuring someone out. A lot. 

"Right," Justin said. He doesn't move to do that, though. 

"He's just in overprotective brother mode," She teased, and - woah.  _Wrong wrong wrong._ Nope. 

"No," Justin said. He didn't mean it to sound so curt, really. Didn't know why, either, but whatever. He's no psychiatrist. 

She blinked, then frowned at him, bag half on her shoulder, half off. Phone almost in the main pocket, but not quite. 

Justin doesn't want her assessing eyes on him, but whatever. If he didn't want her eyes on him at all, he wouldn't be here, and he does, because she's  _Jess,_ you know, and he - he loves her, he does, and that's that, really. 

It's fucked that they're doing this, but this whole thing is fucked. Everyone and everything in this town is doomed to be, at some point, a huge, awful fuck-up in all the ways that matter. Jess is cheating on her boyfriend. Justin is helping, and he's an addict, but Clay's sorted that out, and Justin doesn't have the money to get more yet, and Clay's gonna be on the eye out for that so even if he could get it, where would he hide it and how would he hide taking it, the effect it had. And Clay himself, well, he's  _severely_ fucked, and he's never kept quiet about rape, which is Justin's biggest fuck-up and biggest regret and the thing that fuels his guilt and keeps him awake at night and yeah, might be one of his reasons for the heroin - but, but, he  _did_ try to kill someone, regardless of who they were, and he did hold a gun to his head and he talks to a dead girl his brain conjours up, and god, he's so fucked. They're all fucked, but  _god._

Why is he even thinking about that right now, Jess is  _here._ He returns his attention to her, and her frown is gone, but she seems to have figured something out that Justin knows she won't tell him. 

"What?" He asked anyway. 

"Nothing," She said, and her smile is decidedly odd. "Just something I should have realized."

 _what?_ Justin blinked at her, genuinely confused. She placed a hand on his arm and squeezed lightly, comforting, and shrugged. "I'll call you," She said, winked, and left the room. He heard her car start and leave, and he sighed into the empty air she'd left behind. 

Fuck. He didn't understand people, sometimes. 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short and not-so-sweet. I hope this is decent enough, guys. Everyone seemed to like this, surprisingly, so I might actually continue! Thoughts?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is still an experiment. I've only watched the last three episodes of season two. Maybe I'll watch season three when it comes out, but I'm not watching season one or the rest of season two, so, if I mess up characterization, yell at me while taking that into account, yeah?  
> ~~~   
> This is also a pretty short chapter, sorry.

Zach's a lot nicer than you'd think, really, Alex is aware. He's - he's actually been really great, about - y'know. Helping. And, like, he doesn't - sure, Alex is aware he's pretty much a fucking invalid and it's his own damn fault, but like... Zach doesn't quite treat him like he's incapable but he also seems to know when he might need a bit of help with something, or whatever, and yeah. Sure. Zach's...

Well. Alex has found he- well, he really does have a decent heart. And he helped him do the dancing thing; kinda, taught him how now that standing and stuff is... rough, and hurts a fuck tonne if he does it for too long.

Speaking of dancing; Jess. Speaking of Jess...

"Hey," He said, smiled in return to the one she'd thrown at him during her own greeting. She'd been a bit... off, since the dance, and, like he gets that, of course he does. They all nearly got shot up, it was a near miss of a fucking  _school shooting,_ and oh the  _irony_ if he'd died that night, but whatever. He hadn't. 

His girlfriend - _his girlfriend,_ that's still a novel thought - leaned in and pressed a quick, furtive kiss to his lips; hesitant, but bold - then leaned back and took his hand, the one not on his cane, and continued smiling at him as she spoke.

He was lucky as fuck to have her, he knows. Like, fuck, it's  _Jess._ She's - god. Wonderful, beautiful, strong. One of the best people he knows. A little broken, sure, but he'd be lying if he said any of them wasn't, at least a little, after everything. 

"Yeah," Alex agreed. "Yeah, sounds good. I haven't seen that one yet."

Going to the movies. A date. Yeah. Sounded like a way to take his mind off of the whole - school shooting, thing. 

* * *

 

After she'd left Justin, before she'd gone home and gone to bed, before she'd woken up the next day and gone to see Alex and asked him to the movies on a whim because she really does like him, she  _does_ and that just makes this whole situation even more  _fucked_ because - she likes him, she likes Alex  _a lot,_ but - god, she loves Justin, and she fucking knows it's not good for either of them, what they're doing, she knows it's not good for  _her_ and it's certainly not fair on Alex and it's not fair on Justin, letting him think that maybe this could be more than it is, more than a quick clothed-grind in random abandoned places and dark corners she has to drive them to because, fuck,  _she's cheating on her boyfriend,_ oh god, but that's - that's all besides the point. 

Before all  _that_ mess, Jess had gotten a call from Chloe, when she'd been driving home.

Chloe.  _Pregnant_ Chloe.  _The mother to Bryce Walker's future child,_ Chloe.

That Chloe. 

Jess had sighed, closed her eyes breifly before remembering that she was driving and opening them, scanning the road and then relaxing - and she'd fished her phone from her bag where it was sat on the passenger seat, and answered the girl, put her on speaker phone and set to drive the long way home. 

"Chloe?" Jess asked.

"I got a minute," Chloe rushed out. "I - I'm in the bathroom, I just - god," She breathed, and the girl's voice was so quiet Jess had to turn up the volume, even on speaker. "God, Jess - I -"

Jess heard knocking, a muffled voice that sounded like  _him,_ and she felt those telltale shivers run down her spine. Jess tightened her hands on the wheel, and focused her gaze forwards, put most of her attention into keeping her voice steady.

"Chloe?" She asked again.

"Just a minute!" Chloe called out, talking to the other person - her  _boyfriend,_ a thought that made Jess feel gross and ill; that he could be - that someone could call him  _that_ -

"I just," Chloe hissed, even quieter, straight into the phone's mic - "I need somewhere to stay. My parents - they're, they'd - "

"Extreme pro-life types?" Jess asked, and heard Chloe give an affirming noise. "I don't-" She breathed, "I don't- I don't have time, but just - I can't - can I?"

She couldn't ask, not outright, not if he was  _right there_ but Jess was - she wasn't a monster. The girl needed -  _Chloe_ needed -

"Alright," Jess said, quietly. "I know somewhere."

She heard the call cut, partway through her sentence, a beat after she'd agreed; the time it took for Chloe to register said agreement, Jess figured, and god. 

Chloe's in a house alone with Bryce Walker. 

Jess tightened her grip on the steering wheel and pulled into the lane that would get her home faster. She knew a place, and her parents weren't going to like it, but if fucking Clay Jensen could hide her heroin-addict of an ex-boyfriend and current...  _thing,_ well, Jess can manage well enough, if need be. 

* * *

"So it's gone then?" Justin asked, to the roof of their shared room. He'd made his way back, though he hadn't returned any of his missed calls, and he'd arrived at the scene of the entire Jensen lot just pacing and worrying in the middle of their living room, and that had been a strange sight, to say the least, but... not unwelcome.

That they worried; that people worried for him, like that, to that extent. 

"What?" Clay asked. It had been this morning when he'd found the heroin. Justin figured after he'd left the house, that had been when he - burned it, flushed it, buried it, whatever-ed it. 

Gotten rid of it. 

"The heroin." Justin extrapolated. "It's gone."

"Yes," Clay said, tersely. "It's gone."

Justin didn't say anything else into the silence of their dark, shared bedroom, not a sound, not for a little while. Clay's breathing didn't even out, though, like it did when he's falling asleep, and Justin wondered if Clay was staring up at the ceiling to avoid looking a the ghost of one Hannah Baker or if something else was keeping him awake. 

Justin's curious, but he's not brave, not like the boy in the bed in the middle of the room, so in the end, he didn't ask.

Just sat there in the silence, until he himself fell asleep. Whatever it was, whatever was going on, it could wait until the next time Justin caught it happening. Or the time after that. 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you need my reasons for not watching season one, I might tell you if you ask nicely. But I probably won't. What I'm going to give here is simply; personal reasons. The show hits a little close to home.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Whoa it tears me up  
> I try to hold on, but it hurts too much  
> I try to forgive, but it's not enough to make it all okay."  
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
> "I can't stay gone. Not forever."
> 
> "I want you to," Clay says. "Stay gone. Forever."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please listen to Broken Strings (James Morrison & Nelly Furtardo) at least once - if you can stand that kind of music, of course, just for this to make more sense. I don't even know where it came from I haven't listened to the song in years, myself, it's just... kinda... here. Surprise! It was to me, lol.
> 
> Uhhh... just so you know, I'm only gonna involve characters in this that I've seen, so that's basically the characters that you see in the last three episodes of season 2 for any length of time (so if they're only there for a scene or two each/in only one episode I'm not gonna remember them sorry)
> 
> Just thought you should know... so it's kinda gonna be like the don't exist. Sorry.

Jess' quiet, suppressed panting brushes the shell of his ear as she grinds down onto him, his hands on her breasts over her bra because she asked and her skirt splayed around them, her legs bracketing his legs, still covered in denim. 

Like he's said - the furthest they ever get with clothing is her top. But no more, never any more - and certainly none of his.  

Her breathing gets harder, quicker, and that's that - she finishes and climbs off of him, and he chews at his lip but doesn't say anything. It's not his place to even if it is - and fuck, god, messed up as all hell, this is that. 

They never get any further. He's as glad of that as much as he hates it, and Justin's too used to conflicting emotions to care. He just - god.  _God._ He gets to be with Jess in whatever way she'll have him, even after everything, and he'll take it. Whatever she wants and is willing, especially the willing part - he'll accept whatever she gives him, and he'll ask for no more, because -

Well. He doesn't deserve it, that much is true. And because - because he's not really sure if  _he_ wants more, and fuck - Justin doesn't know anymore, doesn't know what he wants, but - god. It's  _Jess._

That's enough of an explanation. But it's - it's nowhere near as bad as the heroin, and as much as she's probably using him (he's not stupid, just in withdrawal) he's using her, too, to distract. To forget.  _So he doesn't have to think._

Jess clears her throat and shifts, awkwardly, moving her weight from her right foot to her left. Her eyes dart down and then she looks a little guilty but also a little scared, and Justin leans forward in an effort to - something. 

"Sorry," she says, and she means it. 

"You don't have to be," he says, and he means it too. But god,  _god -_

It's  _Jess._ But - but -  _god._ That might not be enough, anymore. Because - fuck - because it's kind of eating him up from the inside, the way they treat each other, the way that he's aiding and abetting someone cheating on their partner. 

God, he's such a fucking asshole. He deserves so much worse than what he gets. 

She laughs, and Justin jolts, surprised. It's not happy - why would it be - and it's sharp, like the sound is glass and it's ripping her throat to let it out, like it shattered from the sweet, lovely sound he knows it should be into this harsh, hurt, coldness. 

"I'm fucking you without fucking you and I'm using you and you know it," Jess says. "I'm cheating on my boyfriend. There's  _so much_ I should be sorry for, Justin,  _so fucking much."_

She shakes her head and grabs her jacket. "I've gotta go," She says, suddenly subdued, and sudden in speaking the words themselves - quick, like she didn't want to let him have the chance to say anything. To confirm or deny; regardless of what he would have said, they both know he'd have lied. 

He'd have tried to make her feel better. And there was that stupid fucking song - the one his mom used to listen to on repeat -

_the truth hurts, and lies worse - oh, how can I give any more?_

\- and he can't remember all the words, but that fits. That little section.

Because he can't. He can't, and she can't, and they both want something neither of them can give each other - but it's been a month, and they're still at this now. Tyler's off in some new rehabilitation place somewhere, again, because every time he comes back his mom takes one look at him and sends him somewhere new. Justin knows through Clay that she's thinking of sending him abroad for the rest of his schooling, sending him somewhere where it's harder to get ahold of knives, let alone guns. Tyler's got a therapist, too, now, one of those online ones, and maybe it's helping or it isn't. Justin can't claim to know him very well, after all. 

"Okay," Justin says, a little too late, as the door swings shut behind her. Justin looks around the motel - at the yellowing walls from the cigarette smoke he knows permeates the air, at the cloudy windows with the moth-eaten paisley curtain drawn shut, he stares at the strange discolouration to the carpet in certain areas and the stains on the chair in the corner that they didn't dare touch - 

Justin grimaces.  _Dirty secret._ That's what they are, that's what  _he_ is, and he fucking deserves it but - god -

but, god, it  _hurts._

* * *

 

Jess swallows hard past the lump in her throat and continues walking, gets into her car then locks it and clambers into the back and under the cover of night, in shadow, hidden in the back of a seedy motel's parking lot, she changes clothing, puts her underwear into a plastic bag and decides throwing them away is easier than the hassle of trying to get them into the washing machine.

Which she does, promptly, bins them in the motel's waste bin and then gets back into her car, checks herself in the mirror before - before -

Jess leans forward, lets out a slow breath as she uses the steering wheel for a place to rest. She licks her lips then squeezes her eyes shut, because - 

because -

Jess takes a shaky breath, and counts for four, then lets it out. She won't - 

Jess cries to herself, quietly, discretely. She's done this so many times now it's easy, staying silent, letting the tears fall but suppressing the sobs, the shaking, just screwing up her face and letting it happen. 

Fuck,  _fuck,_ Jess is  _the worst._ What is she - what is she  _doing?_ Jess doesn't know. But she can't tell anyone because she's  _cheating on her boyfriend,_ and god but Alex doesn't deserve this, and beyond that neither does Justin because he doesn't tell her anything - they're not friends right now, she's made sure of that, made it hard for them both to look the other in the eye when Alex is even on the same street let alone in the same building or at the same place as them - but she can  _tell,_ the way he looks, the way he moves, the way he holds himself -

He's recovering from Heroin. He'd been  _on heroin_ when they first started this, and it's been maybe three weeks since he's been off it again, but god -

Did she - because how could he, when  _high as a fucking kite,_ how can anyone - 

God.  _God,_ she's terrible. A fucking awful, waste of space of a human being, but she knows nobody else seems to think that. Alex likes her a hell of a lot, and she likes him back equally, and she knows that despite his handicap, he'd physically fight anyone who said anything disparaging about her - she  _knows this._ She knows all her friends would do it too, because of everything - but this, god  _this,_ Jess thinks this would be  _it._

She's cheating on her boyfriend. Not just that, but she's cheating on  _Alex._ With  _Justin._

Fuck.  _Fuck me,_ she thinks, almost hysterical.  _Ha. **Fuck. Me.**_

Like she'd ever let anyone do  _that._ Alex - she could, she could see that, but Justin - 

God. She's using him to get off and it's - god. Jess doesn't want to think about this any longer (or at all), so she dries her eyes and checks herself in the mirror again and takes deep breaths, then starts the engine. 

She's got a missed call from Chloe and about ten missed texts from various individuals. This time here, or there, out of the way with a boy she loves even though she doesn't -

When Jess turns on the radio to distract herself, it's one of those stations that plays songs about a decade out of date, no more or no less. 

_- When I love you a little less than before? Oh what are we doing? We are turning into dust, playing house in the ruins of us..._

Jess drops her head again, and lets herself cry.

* * *

_Let me hold you_   
_For the last time_   
_It's the last chance to feel again_   
_But you broke me_   
_Now I can't feel anything._

* * *

Clay stares up at the ceiling. 

"Hey," Hannah-not-Hannah, says, quietly.

"Shut up." He says, and it's weak, and he knows it. Justin's fucked off somewhere, again, like he does and has done regularly but randomly ever since the dance. His mom's out, and so's his dad, maybe on a date or maybe - fucking shopping, or working, who knows and who cares. 

Hannah-not-Hannah does, indeed,  _shut up,_ like he's been asking her to for the last five hours. She's not real and she left but she's dead and she's  _here,_ of course she's  _fucking here._

He's in a house, alone, with the psychological imprint of a suicide victim that used to be his  _friend,_ to be a girl he'd have liked to date, and he's stuck here, and she's stuck on him, like a limpet, like something awful that won't let go that convinced him it was good for him. 

Good for him to have her here. To have her close.  _He'd tried to kiss a fucking ghost._ God, there's so much wrong with him. He'd gotten rid of the heroin, thank fuck, because Clay never wanted to use that shit himself - he'd seen enough of how badly it went for those that did - and he never, ever wanted the temptation to. 

But at least if he was on drugs hallucinations would  _make sense._

"I hate you," Clay says, into the quiet. "I hate you, okay? Not Hannah.  _You."_

"I'm your thoughts, Clay," She says. "I'm here because you-"

"No- no-" Clay springs up, swings his legs off the side of the bed and stands, steps forward, threatening - " _No,_ no you don't get to  _say that- **I let go!** " _Clay shouts, and it's loud, and he's glad nobody else is home. 

"I let you go so  _go!"_ Clay gestures, voice harsh and brittle. " _Go. Away._ "

Hannah looks at him sadly. "You know I can't, Clay," She says. "Not forever."

And he blinks, and she's not sitting on his desk anymore, but she's still there. Still burrowed into his subconsciousness like a rabbit, using the pathways of his brain like a warren of some metaphorical form. 

_God._ She's dead, and he loved her, but  _god._ If this doesn't make him hate her, just a little bit, and fuck,  _fuck,_ but he hates  _himself_ for that, because his  _issues_ aren't her fault, not even  _remotely._

It's not escaped his notice that he's the only one that hallucinates her. Not even close. 

Clay drops back onto his bed. She's here, but she's not, and he'd tried to kiss her, and the hallucination,  _not Hannah,_ had nearly got him to  _kill himself,_ and he hates her, but he wants her near, still, he wants her  _here._

"Like I said," Hannah says, and her non-existent hand passes over his like his own brain is holding back from giving him comfort. "I can't stay gone. Not forever."

"I want you to," Clay says. "Stay gone. Forever."

"No you don't," Hannah closes her eyes, like she's real, like she's tired. Clay's tired; it's late. She's tired because she's his subconsciousness which is tired he's tired.

"I do," He repeats. "But I don't."

She smiles softly, and it aches, and he wishes she was here. 

* * *

> _But we're running through the fire,_   
>  _When there's nothing left to save,_   
>  _It's like chasing the very last train_ _when we both know it's too late..._
> 
> _Too late._

* * *

Alex laughs a little at the movie - some terrible comedy that's only gotten the one half-laugh out of him (the very one he just did) and Zach grins a little. 

"Why are we watching this shit?" Alex asks.

"Because something came up and Jess couldn't come over so I invited myself here and brought... whatever this is?" Zach grins, lightly, trying to make the topic of Jess evading explaining why she had to ditch their date - Alex privately thinks she forgot - rather than just coming straight out with her reasoning. 

"Right," Alex nods, tries his best not to be subdued but fails. Zach holds out the popcorn bowl and Alex grabs a handful, nibbles on it half-heartedly. 

This... isn't the first date Jess has missed. And if it was about Chloe, who Jess is half-hiding at her own house and half helping decide whether or not she wants a baby she'd have just come out and  _said_ it was that - so -

Alex has no idea what it could be. But she's not here, and Alex doesn't want to think about the possibilities because he's probably going to blow it out of proportion, and so instead he focuses on the movie (he has no idea what it's called - neither does Zach) and he focuses on his friend (who's.... more present than his girlfriend, these days for about two weeks now which is lame on Alex's end because it's only been  _two weeks,_ _ **Christ,**_ there's no reason he should be worried even remotely - they're still  _new to this,_ him and Jess, really, and god, if he's not going to take it as slowly as she needs him to) because he'd rather do that than think. 

"What's this?" Zach asks, and Alex looks over. 

"Oh," He says, "My mom's CD collection," He says. 

Zach flicks through, and honestly it's probably more interesting than this movie, so Alex lets him.

"I think I heard this, like, once, when I was like, seven," Zach says, and Alex squints over the distance to read what he's looking at - because Alex has pretty decent eyesight (and for that he's fucking lucky, given where he shot himself) - but it's still about font size eight, which he's pretty sure nobody can read from a distance that isn't right next to it. 

"What?" Alex asks.

"This CD," Zach says. "Dad used to just buy a bunch of random shit and then throw them in the car."

Alex nods. "What's the songs?" He asks.

Zach shrugs, and pops the disc in the CD player. The first one that comes on sounds country-ish, but maybe it isn't; Alex never claimed to be good with music genres. 

The first verse plays, and Alex frowns vaguely. "This is one of those sad-country songs, isn't it?"

Zach snorts, "Break-Up City," He agrees. 

Break-Up City, Alex repeats in his own head. He'd honestly like to never visit that, ever, though he knows high-school romance isn't exactly something that tends to last - he likes Jess, a lot. And he really doesn't want to end up listening to a bunch of shitty country songs if they ever do part. 

_When I love you_  
It's so untrue  
I can't even convince myself  
When I'm speaking  
It's the voice of someone else.

Alex raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. Zach snorts again, and shuts off the CD. 

They resume the movie, and the night goes on.

* * *

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually fucking love this song idk it showed up so here it is, it'll probably make another appearance at least once, it's a good song. 
> 
> I don't own Broken Strings, by James Morrison and Nelly Furtardo. It's just used here, not even in full, as a motif. 
> 
>  
> 
> Does this make this songfic???? idk.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry about this randomness. I'm gonna get something else up sooner or later that's equally as strange, but for Harry Potter, so we'll see how that goes. It's a Ron POV thing, yay! That's all I write for HP these days, and I'm not sorry. He deserves more love.
> 
> If you're wondering about the AC CK stuff in the tags - Assasin's Creed, Clay Kaczmarek. Not-so-funnily enough...
> 
> SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS
> 
> ... The man would fit in well with this show. Considering the circumstances of his death including hallucinations and, well. 
> 
> Suicide. I'm sad now. 
> 
>  
> 
> Bye folks!! Whatever this was, I hope you didn't despise it. And that this didn't come across too weird or ooc since I haven't really properly watched the show and don't really plan to either.


End file.
